


In which Sirius and Remus share beds

by redpangur



Series: In which Sirius Black and Remus Lupin are in love [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, I love my sweet dog boys, M/M, Marauders Friendship (Harry Potter), Protective Sirius, baby Marauders, wolfstar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-05 22:20:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redpangur/pseuds/redpangur
Summary: “Do you think…” Remus begin seriously, “if I ate the moon…it would fix me?”“You’re getting loopy, werewolf boy.”~~~~~~~~~~~Another Sirius/Remus one shot--in third year, Remus gets sick and Sirius keeps him company. I'm connecting this to my other one shots on these sweet sweet boys, but you don't have to read the earlier ones.





	1. Chapter 1

It was only fair, Sirius thought, that if Remus had to miss class because of mutago, he could miss it too to keep him company. It was a nasty strain, going around the whole school—they had an emergency assembly and everything, where Madam Pomfrey had urged everyone to avoid infection, and explained to all the Muggleborns that mutago was basically a bad version of the Muggle flu, except that you also occasionally vomited up a frog or two. So far Sirius’ whole dormitory, all the Gryffindor boys in his year, had avoided it, but then Remus had started looking a bit green in potions, eventually coughing up something that resembled a tadpole. So many students were sick that it was impossible for Madam Pomfrey and the Hufflepuffs who’d volunteered to help to keep everyone in the hospital wing, so she just sent Remus back to his room, with his dormmates on strict orders to bring him in if he started to get delirious or dehydrated. Sirius, of course, took this to mean that Remus needed friendly monitoring at all times, especially during classes. Peter chided him for spending so much time with an infected person (“Mutago is nothing—wait’ll you see him grow wolf incisors,” Sirius thought bemusedly), but James got it immediately.

“I’ll tell McGonagall why you stayed back,” he said, grinning. “She’ll tear up.” Sirius winked at him from behind the comic book he was flipping through. “Tomorrow’s my turn to nobly sacrifice myself for Remus, though,” he added. Sirius nodded—fair was fair. An obscenely loud retching came from the bathroom—Peter practically bounced out of the room at the sound, but James stayed, his expression different. “Hardly seems fair for him,” he said ruefully. Sirius felt a sudden rush of affection for his best friend.

“Exactly. He already gets wolf fever once a month.”

“You’d think they’d want him in the hospital wing, in case this interacts differently with his…you know. Furry little problem. I guess maybe Pomfrey has her reasons.” Sirius shrugged. He could think of a lot of reasons why Remus wasn’t getting extra attention in the hospital wing, reasons that made his blood boil.

“He’s got about two weeks before that’s a problem,” Sirius said, affectedly casual. “Besides, if something weird goes on, who better than us to handle it?” James nodded, reassured.

“Enjoy your martyrdom, then.” Sirius gave an exaggerated sigh.

“It’s my burden to bear.”

~~~

Lessons went late that night—they were in their third year, which meant they were starting Astronomy. Sirius had made a day of it, finishing all the comics he’d knicked from Sean Thomas—he’d return them before he noticed—sneaking into the kitchens for some shepherd’s pie and some broth for Remus and, in a moment of weakness, finishing his Transfiguration homework. He wanted to take James’ broom out for a spin, but he didn’t want to leave Remus alone for that long. The sandy-haired boy had barely been able to get half the broth down before returning to the bathroom.

“Any frogs yet?” Sirius asked loudly, after he’d been silent in there for a bit too long.

“No,” Remus called back weakly.

“Do you think the frog is the climax? Like once you puke up the frog, you’re done?”

“I don’t want to think about it,” Remus called back. Then, after a pause: “I hope so.”

Sirius still had that bouncy feeling of getting away with something, bunking off classes for the whole day, but when Remus finally shuffled out of the bathroom again, looking haggard and lost, Sirius felt his heart sink in contrition.

“Come on,” he said, guiding him to his bed. “Sit.” Remus obeyed him listlessly. He felt his cheek—burning hot, of course, and his eyes too bright. “Wait here.” Sirius wasn’t good at this stuff, and he usually didn’t even try it. The nice thing about having a reputation for being a devil-may-care asshole is that people didn’t expect you to do things for them. When his girlfriend back in second year got a cold, he just broke up with her instead of bringing her hot tea or tissues or whatever. And then when she got better, she took him back. Easy. But Remus was different, eyes too bright, skin too hot. He ran cold water over a few washcloths and wrung them out, then grabbed a glass of water.

“Here,” he said, urging Remus to drink as much as he could—pathetically little. He used the washcloths to gently wipe off Remus’ forehead, and then his whole face and neck. He had some vague memory of how his nanny used to do this, when he was sick—Remus had stilled, his eyes closed. “Ok?”

“Feels nice.”

“Good.”

“Do you think…” Remus begin seriously, “if I ate the moon…it would fix me?”

“You’re getting loopy, werewolf boy.”

“No, I was reading about it,” he protested. “The other day, I think. At the top, top shelf. With all the monsters. It could work.”

“You need some rest.” Remus shook his head.

“Too cold.” Sirius touched his cheek again, incredulous.

“You’re burning up.” Remus shook his head again.

“No. If I fall asleep I’ll get too cold.” Sirius sighed and set the glass and washcloths aside. He looked at Remus a moment, still sitting obediently on the edge of his bed, his shoulders tight, his gaze still so lost.

“Come here.” He sat beside him, pulling him into his chest. Remus relaxed into him. Sirius was struck again by how young he looked, and how tired. He liked to take Remus for granted, liked the easy feeling of always knowing he would be there, tagging along, working harder than anyone else in their year, helping Peter with his homework all the time on top of everything else. But sometimes the unfairness of it all just boiled in him, the way people would treat him if they knew his secret, the way they already treated him—Madam Pomfrey never touching him without gloves. For some reason, he leaned back, pulling Remus into the bed with him. For a moment, Remus curled closer into his chest; then he sat up with sudden energy.

“No,” he said urgently. “I’ll infect you. Everyone.” Sirius looked up at him, the dim light from James’ desk lamp barely illuminating his small frame, that smattering of freckles. “Don’t you know what I am?” Sirius grabbed his hand.

“You can’t infect me, Moony,” he lied impulsively. “I have, uh, a spell. I didn’t tell you, but I had it all along.”

“A spell?”

“Yeah. To ward off mutago.” Remus furrowed his brow.

“There isn’t a spell to ward off mutago.”

“It’s, um, it’s a Black family spell. Pureblood thing. We don’t let the normals know.” It was a profoundly weak lie, especially since Remus was a dab hand at charms, but Sirius could tell he was eating it up. He tugged Remus’ hand again, and he didn’t resist this time, crawling into the bed and pulling the covers over them. Sirius moved to give him space, but then he impulsively tucked his head under his chin.

“Well?” Remus said, his breath tickling Sirius’ neck.

“What?”

“Are you going to cast it? Let’s see it then.”

“Already cast,” Sirius lied smoothly. “I only need to do it once a day. Been casting it since everyone first started getting sick, obviously.” Remus huffed a bit.

“But what’s the incantation?” Sirius had to stop himself from laughing at him—too sick to think straight, but still so curious about this impossible spell.

“Night, Moony.”

“Don’t you think the healers would want to know about this advance in medicinal magic?”

“Just go to sleep,” Sirius said into his hair. “It’ll all make sense when you get better.”

~~~

Sirius woke up to James punching his thigh.

“Oi,” Sirius mumbled resentfully.

“Are you _cuddling_?” he heard James ask from above. Sirius felt Remus next to him, his breath deep and even, then looked up blearily.

“He said he’d get cold.” He thought he saw James look rather incredulous. “You know me. I’m a daredevil. Risktaker. So dashing.” James hit him in the thigh again. “Don’t wake him up,” Sirius protested.

“You’re going to get sick.”

“Bugger off.” And, blissfully, he did.

~~~

Remus was right about the getting cold while sleeping thing, Sirius discovered, when he, of course, came down with a raging case of mutago. It was like as soon as you fell asleep, your whole body lost the ability to self-regulate, and he’d wake up shaking. It only happened a few times, though, before he woke up with Remus in his bed.

“Moony. I’m so cold.”

“I know,” Remus said, turning him onto his side and pulling him toward him. It felt nice, so, so nice, Remus’ arm around his waist, his back pressed up to Remus’ chest. He could hear James and Peter snoring, oblivious that Remus was here with him. Sirius liked that. A lot.

“You’re so nice, Moony,” he mumbled. “My girlfriend won’t even touch me right now.”

“You don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I do. I asked out Matilda O’Keefe yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“I was puking my guts out an hour before but she still said yes. I’m a force of nature. Can’t keep ‘em off me.” Remus didn’t answer. “You won’t get sick again, right?” Remus sighed.

“Did you listen at all to Madam Pomfrey’s lecture?” he asked, his breath on the back of Sirius’ neck. “I won’t.” Sirius nestled closer.

“Good.”

“Besides, I know an ancient warding spell from the House of Black. It protects idiots who have no respect for contagion theory.”

“Savage.”

“Very kind idiots. Idiots who protect their friends.” Sirius knew he was probably loopy with fever, but it was still such a nice thing, for Remus’ words to come softly from just behind his ear. He made an effort to keep himself from saying something sappy and dumb.

“You’re my favorite, Moony,” he said anyway. He could swear he felt something on the back of his neck, like a kiss, but it was so fleeting he wasn’t sure.

“I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mutago is some nonsense made up by me--I hope it's not the name for some other real thing. I also know that their astronomy lessons start in fifth year, I think, in HP, not in third year, but I figured it could work differently in the Marauder era.


	2. In which sharing beds gets more complicated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wanted to say that he missed him, or that his bed at home was far too big. 
> 
> Instead, he said, “Budge over, Moonshine.” 
> 
> ~~~  
> CW: Mild, implied homophobia

They kept sharing beds, of course, off and on, even after mutago season was over. James had teased them about it, but he hadn’t freaked out, so it couldn’t be _that_ weird. There were always good excuses anyway—Gryffindor tower was too drafty in winter; Sirius was bored (at 2am) and needed someone to talk to; Remus was proofreading Sirius’ potions paper and Sirius was too sleepy to move when he finished. The more it happened the less anyone reacted—James even seemed pleased on the mornings that he could jump on both of them at once to wake them up. Sirius could swear sometimes that Remus looked a bit arch now when he brought him homework to look over at night, but they never talked about it, and every once in a while Remus was the one who would pad over and tell Sirius to scooch when everyone else was asleep. Even on those nights, when one of them claimed to be bored or restless, they didn’t talk much—it seemed like talking about it would break the spell somehow, would make it weird. They would just settle in, arms barely touching, or their feet tangled, or Remus pressing his head into Sirius’ shoulder—the comfiest Sirius thought he’d ever felt—and drift off.

Remus slept like a demon sometimes, especially when the full moon was close. At first it would jolt Sirius awake, but it eventually became second nature for him to weigh down Remus’ hands to keep them still, or to tuck the blanket taut around him to stop him thrashing. Sometimes it didn’t even wake him up at all; he’d find himself in the morning with his arm draped heavily over Remus’ chest and guess that it must have been a bad night for him. Their habitual physical closeness spidered out unaccountably, and eventually Sirius started taking naps wherever Remus was too, curling up next to him in the common room or in the library while he studied, immune to Madam Pince’s reprimands and James’ jokes that Sirius didn’t love him anymore.

When their fourth year started, it seemed at first like summer had broken the habit. The first few weeks back they all went to bed far too late or far too early, staying up together to plan mischief or collapsing right after dinner, utterly strung out from their new schedules. Sirius loved the beginning of term, the heady escape from home, the bliss of the Marauders back together swapping preposterous goals for the new year: throw a party on the roof, sweet talk Filch out of detention, get top marks in all the new subjects (three guesses whose goal that was). But the thought that this space between them was the new normal was driving him mad. The tacit gag rule he and Remus had on the subject made everything more complicated; it wasn’t like he could stop his friend in the hallway and ask if he wanted to sleep with him after dueling club. Eventually, though, Sirius just forced the issue. He was dog tired that night, but he kept himself awake until he heard James’ snores. Then he grabbed his pillow and shuffled across the room, nudging his friend until he turned sleepily toward him in the half-light. He wanted to say that he missed him, or that his bed at home was far too big.

Instead, he said, “Budge over, Moonshine.” And he did.

For most of that term, they got away with not talking about it again, and nothing risked the delicate balance that let them get away with it. There was one night, though, that almost upended everything.

They’d stayed up later than the others, Remus curled up around a giant book at the head of Sirius’ bed and Sirius at the foot occasionally chucking gobstones at him. When Remus refused to give up reading, Sirius crawled over to edge of the bed, Remus pulling the blanket over him without even looking up, and fell asleep to the sound of turning pages.

Later, Sirius startled awake in the darkness, profoundly disoriented, and felt Remus curled into his side, his breathing short and heavy. For a moment, he wondered foggily why on earth he had woken up. Then Remus moaned in his sleep, just a tiny bit, and the rapidity with which Sirius transitioned from groggy to aroused was almost embarrassing. He froze a bit, at a loss for what to do, knowing that this didn’t mean anything and didn’t have anything to do with him—but stupidly feeling his heart race with every one of Remus’ breaths.

Remus moaned again, just a soft catch in his throat, and Sirius felt his whole body tense. It was too much—he was going to die here; he was going to implode while his friend innocently dreamed about some girl. He turned onto his side away from him, knees bent, and forced himself to inch toward the edge of the bed and put some space between them. Moments later Remus had closed the space and was there again, settling into the curve of his back, and Sirius realized with a kind of erotic horror that he could distinctly feel Remus pressed up against him. That’s when he rolled violently onto the floor.

~~~

He ended up crawling pathetically across the room to Remus’ bed and sleeping there, and in the morning no one batted an eye at the arrangement—especially not Remus, who didn’t make eye contact with him at all for most of the day. Sirius played it cool on instinct, but he was stupidly flustered about it, about what Remus was thinking, about why he spent all of lunch poring over his arithmancy textbook even though they’d just had a test, about whether he was pissed or what he thought had happened. Sirius had a date after dinner—some fifth-year who told Peter she thought his tall, dark-haired friend was dreamy. He was looking forward to the distraction, but when he banged up the stairs and into their room to change shirts right before, he was greeted with a painfully on-the-nose reminder of the source of his stress: Remus Lupin, first in his class, purest soul in Gryffindor, hurriedly stripping the sheets from Sirius’ bed.

He startled at Sirius’ violent entrance, his face flushed. Sirius raised an eyebrow, hiding his nerves. “You training to be a house elf?” He could tell Remus was biting his cheek, flustered.

“I, uh—” He paused, eyes wide, as if praying for a plausible lie. Sirius just waited. Half of him was worried that his friend would never speak to him again, and the other half thought that Remus Lupin having to explain his wet dream to him must be god’s precious gift for a past good deed. “I just got these a little accidentally, um, dirty, so I’m fixing it.”

“Dirty?” Sirius asked mercilessly.

“I just, um.” He bit his cheek again, then plunged on, as if suddenly inspired, with an implausibly intricate tale about a new quill and the imaginary astronomy assignment that had made him spill ink all over Sirius’ bed. Remus’ lies were always unnecessarily complicated, but this was a new level. Sirius drifted over as he finished his story and put his head on his shoulder, gazing at the sheets.

“Invisible ink, huh?” Remus flinched.

“Ok, look.” He wheeled around to face Sirius. “I had a—you know. A nocturnal emission last night.” Sirius snorted. “I know. It’s gross. I’m fixing it.” Sirius put on an overblown look of shock.

“An _emission_? In _my_ virginal bed?!”

“Shut up,” he said, unmaking the bed again, but he looked mollified. Sirius sat down on the rumpled sheets, directly in Remus’ way.

“A _nocturnal_ emission in my pure, chaste, wholesome bed?” he added, ramping up his faux outrage. He leaned back deliberately, arms behind his head, feet crossed on the headboard, watching Remus’ eyes widen again.

“ _Sirius_.”

“You know I don’t care, right?” he asked nonchalantly, reclining.

“Sirius, get up—”

“It’s dry now anyway.”

“ _Gross_.” Sirius laughed—he wanted to tug Remus down next to him, just to see his face, just to show him how profoundly this didn’t bother him, but instead he got up and pulled off his shirt.

“What should I wear for my date?” he asked, opening his trunk and rummaging through his clothes. He glanced back to see Remus more crimson than before and suppressed a smile. Precious gift from god—definitely. He threw his old shirt at him; he barely caught it before it hit him in the face. “That can go in the laundry too, while you’re at it.” Remus sputtered and gave him his best ‘you’re a handful’ look.

“How are you making me mad at you when I should be apologizing?” Sirius grabbed his purple ruffled shirt, suddenly feeling much lighter.

“It’s my roguish good looks. They can be confusing.” He heard Remus groan in annoyance while he pulled the shirt over his head. “Wish me luck,” he added. He fluffed Remus’ soft hair fondly, ignoring his attempts to hold his cowlick down, then bounced out and back down the stairs, even louder than before.

~~~

What Sirius couldn’t know, what he could never know, was that his roguish good looks really were confusing. While Sirius made more noise than all the rest of Gryffindor tower galumphing down the stairs, Remus sat gingerly on the edge of the bed and indulged in the old pastime of willing his body to be normal. He couldn’t stop himself from turning into a murderous id monster every full moon—no matter what the hippie healer had said about mind over matter—but he could at least stop himself from thinking inappropriately about one of his best friends. Remus chewed on his lower lip, feeling like he was constantly on the edge of ruining everything. His friends had made him too comfortable, too trusting. His parents were encouraging him to take every class that could possibly lead to work from home, writing Dumbledore polite letters about whether the school could offer goblin translation classes, and here he was almost ruining one of the only real friendships he’d ever have because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He still couldn’t believe that Sirius had laughed it off—he wondered how it was that Sirius could salvage almost anything, could choose to use his bravado kindly instead of just as a weapon. He realized that this probably wasn’t a great train of thought if his goal was to be normal.

He finished the job of Sirius’ sheets, dumping the old ones in the laundry pile and absentmindedly smoothing on fresh ones. The fact that Sirius never even considered doing tasks like this because he was so used to house elves—to actual slave labor—was quite bad, really. He tried to hold onto that thought: Sirius was a rich ass. (“A rich piece of ass,” the most unhelpful part of his subconscious supplied.)

But, of course, the reminder of Sirius’ faults wasn’t at all the thought that stayed with him. It was something else from their conversation, a dumb joke that haunted Remus like an overenthusiastic boggart. He spent a solid two days not thinking about it whenever possible, but finally one day after classes, when Sirius was bugging him while he tried to study in the common room, the question just popped out.

“Are you really a virgin?”

Sirius snorted. “No.” He stretched out on the couch, laying his head on Remus’ thighs, and Remus automatically brushed his dark hair off his forehead. He suspected Sirius liked it in his face, a tuft of wavy hair forever falling dashingly in front of his eye, but Remus couldn’t help but fix it. “Actually,” Sirius continued, looking thoughtful. “Maybe I am, in a way. In the ways that count.” Remus tried fiercely not to blush. He wanted to ask him what he meant, but most of his brain was busy wondering if you could die of sexual frustration.

“You two married yet?” Brandon McClaggen asked nastily from a nearby table. Remus flushed immediately, ashamed. He pushed at Sirius’ shoulder, trying to get him to roll off his lap, but he wouldn’t budge.

“Get bent, McClaggen,” Sirius said with a casual venom.

“Did I hear about a marriage?” James asked, appearing behind the couch. “Oh happy day. Can I be your best man?”

“You already are, babe,” Sirius said sweetly. James responded by vaulting himself over the couch, landing on top of them with his full length. Remus gasped for a moment, then laughed, extricating his book so they wouldn’t break the spine.

“Fuckity hell, James,” Sirius cursed, crushed under him.

“Peter!” James called demandingly. “Peter! We need you!” Remus, the only one sitting upright, watched him approach the couch warily; as soon as he came within reach, James yanked him off balance, and he landed solidly on top of the pile. Remus felt like his thighs were on fire from all the weight, but he couldn’t stop laughing.

“I love you Jimjam, but you’re asphyxiating me,” Sirius groaned from the bottom of the pile.

“You guys are _weird_ ,” McClaggen said, gathering up his stuff to leave. Remus felt tears of laughter on his cheeks, and he rested his head lightly on Peter’s back while he squirmed, trying to get up.

"Never change," Remus murmured to James, or maybe to all of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone protect these pure boys I love them so much


End file.
